


Bonds Unbreakable

by Fools_Rush_In_TAZ



Category: Sense8 (TV), The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: I Couldn't Stop Thinking About This Crossover, Medical, Politics, Self-Indulgent, Violence, please enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-04-07 01:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fools_Rush_In_TAZ/pseuds/Fools_Rush_In_TAZ
Summary: Eight lovable doofuses are connected across the world by a psychic connection. Will they use it for good? Or will they goof it up?





	1. Twenty-Five Years and My Life is Still

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this will be good, maybe not. But I like it, so I felt I should write it. Enjoy <3
> 
> Will update fairly slowly. Subscribe for updates.

Istus was in exquisite pain. She felt her head splitting in half. She felt the Earth cracking around her. She felt every tether of the psychic network beneath her consciousness shake and shudder and scream. 

Pan was at her side; God bless Pan. The Raven Queen was outside, standing watch over their backroom bedroom. The authorities were coming, Whispers was coming. They had to leave. But Istus had to finish her work first. The children had to come. 

“Deep breaths, darling,” Pan said, ever the faithful friend. “Relax your muscles. They’re coming.”

Istus held her skull together with her hands and screamed. Everything hurt. She was dying. She was going to explode, and Pan was going to have to scrape bits of her off the walls with a putty knife. It was so unfair that it had to end like this. 

Istus gave her last surge of strength, sure the world was about to end. She bore her wit and her will down hard against the force of energy she was pushing into the world. The pain bloomed forth into full flower.

And then she saw them. The fighter, the man who never let a loved one down; the monastic zealot with a passion for his God above and beyond any in his nation; the twins, whose family was about to grow so much; the boy wonder, years ahead of his age; the journal keeper who fought crime with no mask; the quiet doctor, who only wanted to heal his city; and the politician who would never be wordless. She saw them, and they were going to be amazing. 

And then her world went dark.  
...

The sun beat down on Cairo, and the murder scene was beginning to draw flies, and worse, onlookers. 

Detective Naser was at a loss. The Progress Group was Egypt’s predominant leftist political action group. They were responsible for numerous advancements in women’s rights, queer rights, religious tolerance, and many other internationally championed causes. And here was their leader, Hassan Aswad, dead at the stoop of their office in downtown Cairo.

This in itself was not shocking. In such a conservative country, Aswad had many enemies. But the manner of his death was most bizarre. He had been leading a board meeting, the same as he might any other day, when a man had burst into the room, thrown a chair through the window, and shoved Aswad out before jumping himself. 

There was only one problem: the attacker, who had been identified as Hamed Cham, was clinically brain-dead. At least, he had been, until today. Cham was hospitalized and had been comatose since a car accident in summer of 2014. And today, Cham had simply stood up and walked out of the hospital, and went directly to The Progress Group tower. Which left Detective Naser standing on the sidewalk, red and blue lights flashing in his face, staring down at two corpses who simply didn’t add up.

He was so lost in his pondering that he didn’t hear the sleek Italian sports car pull up, didn’t hear the utilitarian boots with their infinitely light step walking up beside him, didn’t notice the intrusion to his crime scene at all until he heard a familiar, “Hello, sir.”

…

Dr. Barry J. Bluejeans was a simple man. He woke up in the morning, he went to work, he went home and slept. Life held few surprises for him, and that’s the way he liked it. 

However, Barry was Ukrainian. And today, Ukraine was at war.

Tensions between Russia and Ukraine had been building for years, ever since the Crimean Occupation. The government was preparing for the worst, and the people were fearful. Finally, the tension broke, and Russian tanks crossed the border. People were fleeing west as the Russian army swept close behind.

Barry lived in Kiev, the capital of Ukraine, and the fighting around his downtown office was intense. He crouched beneath his desk and listened to the shouting and gunfire from the street outside. He said a quiet prayer and hoped the fighting would end soon. 

Suddenly there came a pounding at his door. There were a series of hard knocks, then the door burst open and two Russian soldiers burst in, dragging a wounded man between them. 

“You!” said one of the soldiers. “This is a doctor’s office, yes?”

Barry scrambled to his feet and raised his hands. “Y-yes sir!”

“Are you the doctor?”

“I am, yes.”

The two men dragged their wounded man inside and hoisted him onto the table. “Oleg was shot, and we were separated from our medic. You will help him.”

Barry looked to his examination room. He was woefully unequipped to perform surgery in his small office, but he supposed he could perform at least a stabilizing treatment. But was it right to treat a man who was in the process of invading his city and his country?

The Russian answered that question for him by pressing a pistol to his temple. “Now, doctor.”

…

It was a slow day at Sizzle It Up, Sydney’s hottest new restaurant, and owner and head chef Taako Taaco was bored. He stalked across the kitchen, intimidating sous chefs and sending them scuttling into the pantry or the freezer mumbling about how they needed to get “that one thing, you know, for the recipe…” 

His sister Lup watched him from the dining counter with expressionless gray eyes. Taako was being dramatic, that was all. He loved to cook, but more than that, he loved to nap, and as soon as he ceased his pacing and whining, he’d sit down next to her at the counter and pass out.

“Hey, goofus, stop scaring the staff. They’ll guillotine your ass and install a democratically elected kitchen government.”

Taako glanced over at Lup, sighed dismissively, and hit the power button on her laptop, then turned on his heel and dashed for the back door.

“Taako, I didn’t save my shit!” Lup yelled as she leapt over the counter to give chase.

Taako hit the back door a couple of seconds before Lup did and sprinted down the alley behind the restaurant. Lup tackled Taako, a little harder than she meant to, and they went sprawling across the concrete. Lup landed gracefully, but Taako slammed his head against the dumpster and went down.

“Oooww, fuck me, Lulu, that hurt!”

“I know, I felt it too,” Lup said, rubbing the back of her head where Taako had hit.

“We’re gonna get brain damage from that magic twin connection someday.”

“You’re already brain-damaged.”

“I’ll get you for that!” Taako got up and started chasing Lup, who was already running back inside.

…

If one were to walk through Kent Station on any spring afternoon, they would find it flooded with people. Being just about the most diverse city in the Pacific Northwest, there was nothing unusual about the woman sitting alone. Her richly colored attire and intricately braided hair fit in with the sea of hipsters, activists, and emos. If one were to return, however, they might begin to take notice. 

Lucretia arrived by bus to Kent Station every day around eleven in the morning. Every day, she carried a heavy leather bag. The contents changed often, which was what may bring attention to her. She would pick a table (outside, unless it was raining), heave her bag onto the table, and carefully take out each item packed inside. Many days, she had a sleek laptop, and enough journals to fill a classroom. Sometimes, she had nothing but paper and pen. Occasionally, she did not write, but sat with a book for hours. But, what could be considered odd about Lucretia, was an antique typewriter that she so loved. A gift from her mentor, the typewriter had served her for years, her most loyal partner. Corruption in the local government; a pollution scandal in the Washington business scene; nefariousness in the police force; the typewriter had written it all. And their greatest challenge was only just beginning.

...

The rain in Lhasa was beautiful. Merle always forgot his problems as he watched the rain. Communing with nature, beholding the wonder of God; in the face of His majesty, all the earthly issues Merle faced seemed small and fleeting. The works of the divine, Merle mused, hold a truth all their own. Though Merle was young-only twenty-five-he held a wisdom through his faith that was outside himself.

He stepped out onto the covered terrace before his congregation. Sunday was God’s day, and so Sunday meant breaking the law. The church that met every week on Merle’s small farm was illegal, and they all knew it, but what else could they do? Christ deserved to be worshiped and praised, and they would not falter from the job.

Merle gathered his notes and his Bible, smiled at his assembly, opened his mouth to speak, and froze. Standing at the gate of his farm, leaning on the post, waiting, was Inspector Feng. The church had been discovered, and all was lost. 

And Merle began to pray.

…

Skype is always slowest when you can’t wait another second, Sergeant Magnus Burnsides, United States Marine Corps, mused as he watched the icon bounce on his screen and listened to that stupid chime that he hated. The AC was out in the base’s computer lab, and he was sweating bullets in his uniform, but he didn’t care. It was her first birthday, and he had one hour when the time zones lined up in a way that wasn’t God-awful, and he would not be foiled by technology, dammit.

Finally, the line connected, and he saw the beautiful face of his wife, all the way from Raven’s Roost, California, to Kabul, Afghanistan, holding his magnificent little daughter, Stephanie. It seemed such a short time ago, but she had made it all the way around the sun since he last saw her, and he would be damned if he was away from her for another rotation.

“Hiya, Jules,” Magnus said, as always enraptured with her beauty. She smiled, and Magnus melted in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.

“Hi Maggie,” Julia said. “Say hi to Daddy, baby!”

Stephanie waved, a little absently, and smiled at nothing. 

“Happy birthday, baby girl,” Magnus’s voice was thick with tears. He missed them so much. 

They talked for the next hour about nothing and about everything, and for a moment Magnus was home. When they finally had to hang up so Magnus could sleep, he felt happier than he’d been in a while. He grinned like a big goofy fool all the way to bed.

...

Drew Davenport piloted his small schooner through the Caribbean with skill. His small crew-his two elder brothers-stood ready for his every motion. Their father had taught them to sail as boys (a wealthy man should command all that he surveys, even the sea) and they’d kept the habit to stay together. 

Davenport did his best thinking at sea. It calmed him, eased his mind, brought him peace. And today he had much to think about. 

The Columbian Communist Party had just seen a shocking victory, for the first time establishing a presence in the congress. Davenport at twenty-five was among the youngest men ever elected, and he was proud of his opportunity to serve his people, but scared out of his mind at the same time. He was not prepared for this responsibility, what was he thinking? 

His eldest brother Javier came back from midship, seeming to sense what was on the young Representative Davenport’s mind. 

“The sea is always changing,” Javier said. “But, a clever seaman can learn to read it, and anticipate it’s motion. Politics will be the same way. You’ll learn to read it soon enough.”

“Thank you, Javi,” Drew said. “I’m only worried that I’ll hurt the very people who elected me to protect them.”

“It’s possible. You might. But believe in the interconnectedness of all things, brother, and you’ll always come out on top.”

“I hope so. I sure hope so.”


	2. Trying To Get Up That Great Big Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up for the cluster as bonds continue to form between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the warm reception! Especially a certain sweet-flipping lesbian who consistently supports my work! Enjoy <3

“You’ve done it, darling! They’re wonderful!” Pan cried.

Istus had them. The cluster was born. Eight more minds were connected in the world, just waiting to discover each other. She wanted to reach out to them, find them, grab them…

And the Raven Queen burst in through the door. 

“Pan!” she said, panicking. “Whispers is here, and he brought The Hunger. We need to go!”

She lowered her visor-a sleek corvid mask- and raised the hood of her cloak. “Remember, if he sees your eyes, you’re better off dead. Masks on.”

Pan nodded and donned his ram’s mask. “Where are we going to go?” he asked.

“Sydney,” Istus said. “We’ll go to Sydney. My children are there. The twins...”

Pan smiled and nodded. “Of course. They’ll need their mother.” He wrapped Istus’s scarf around her eyes and picked her up. He looked around at the back room of the bar where they’d been staying, sad to see it go. Dingy and drafty as it was, it was a home, and it’s hard to leave home.

Then he followed the Raven Queen into the street, and out into the West Australian night.

...

Lucretia had a story to tell. She didn’t know what it was yet, but she knew it was out there waiting for her. She knew this, because of the email. It came in the middle of the night, from a stranger. It simply said, “Saltwater Park fishing pier, 3am. Come alone.”

Of course, Lucretia fully expected this to be an attempt to murder her, probably by a cop or a hitman for somebody who’s career she’d ruined. She carried a taser and pepper spray everywhere she went for exactly that reason. She didn’t believe in guns, but tonight, as she walked through the darkened forest of the park by moonlight alone, she wished she had one. 

Finally, she heard the Pacific crashing against the shore, and she saw the pier. There was a man waiting, hat in his hands, looking as nervous as Lucretia had ever seen anyone. She watched him for a while, then walked towards him, hand on the taser in her purse.

“Hello?” she called to him as she stepped onto the pier.

“Hiya, miss. You’re Lucretia, right?”

“Yes sir, I am. What can I do for you?”

The man stepped forward, and Luretia stepped back, on her guard. The man stopped and raised his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to spook ya. I just don’t want to be overheard.”

“I think you could yell, and you’d be safe,” Lucretia said. “But tell me what you need, please.”

The man nodded. “I work at the Airride factory, you know, the aircraft company? Out in Ellensburg.”

Lucretia nodded. She was roughly familiar; one of their planes had crashed recently, and it had made national news.

“Well, Airride is into some dark shit. Cost cutting maneuvers. Important corners are being cut, and I need to tell somebody before it gets folks hurt.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police, or the Federal Aviation Administration?” Lucretia asked.

“It’s no good, I tried. They’re all on the take from Airride. I need someone outside the public sector.”

Lucretia took out a pen and pad. “Tell me everything you know.”

...

Barry was in a spot of bother. The soldiers were standing watch behind him, watching him perform surgery on Oleg, who was fighting for life and losing quick. Barry was pretty sure he couldn’t save him, and also pretty sure his friends wouldn’t be happy about that.

The bullet had ripped Oleg’s stomach open, and acid was leaking into the body. He could close the wound, but the acid would continue eating through his other organs unless he drained it all, and he couldn’t do that and also repair all the other damage to the man’s body at the same time. He needed assistance. 

“You!” he barked at the lead soldier. “What’s your name?”

“You do not need to know, doctor. Now focus.”

“Fine, just being polite. I need your man’s help. I don’t have enough hands here.”

The sergeant nodded. “Private, help him.”

The private stepped up on the other side of the table. “What do you need?”

“Hold this drain, and for God’s sake, keep your hand steady.”

...

Magnus couldn’t sleep. He tossed for what felt like hours; there was a beeping in his head he couldn’t shake. It was piercing him down to the bone. When he finally fell asleep, he had the worst nightmare of his life.

He was standing over a cut open corpse on a table. The beeping had risen to a droning, monotone shriek. A foreign soldier was bent over the corpse, and another was standing behind him and shouting in a language he could only understand in bits and pieces. He heard “He killed him!” and “You’ll die for this.” Then the soldier behind him-the ranking officer, he somehow knew-cocked a pistol and pressed it into Magnus’s temple.

So Magnus fought. He grabbed the officer’s hand and twisted the pistol out of it, then deflected a blow from his other hand with his elbow. As the subordinate soldier drew his weapon, Magnus kicked the table with the corpse on it and it slid into him, hitting him in the gut. The officer stood up with a knife, and Magnus deflected a blow, then shot him in the gut twice. He then turned the pistol on the subordinate, who said, “Doctor…?” 

And Magnus shot him down.

He woke up then. His fellow Marines were surrounding him. He had fallen out of his bunk, the nightmare had been so intense. He waved them off, and sheepishly climbed back into bed.

It had felt so real…

…

 

Barry stared down at the gun in his hands. He didn’t know what had come over him. Oleg had died on the table, and the sergeant had threatened to kill him. And then… he didn’t know. Some kind of haze had descended over him, and then the two soldiers were dead, and Barry had the sergeant’s gun. He had vaguely felt himself moving through them, fighting them, pulling the pistol’s trigger, but it was as if… someone else had done it?

Regardless, now he had to get out of this place. 

...

“I’d never seen anything like it,” the doctor at Cairo University Hospital told Angus. “Cham was brain dead. He should not have been able to move his eyes, let alone commit a murder.”

Angus was nearing a total loss on this case. He’d already spoken to Hamed Cham’s family, and even before the accident that had ended his brain function, it appeared that Cham was never very political. He’d spoken to Aswad’s family, and none of them had ever heard of Cham. If this wasn’t a political hit, and it wasn’t a personal grudge, what could have possibly been the motivation for the assassination?

Heck, was motivation even the right question? Angus wondered. First he had to find out how Cham had stood up and walked, and now that the doctor said he didn’t know, Angus had no leads. 

“Alright, doctor,” Angus said. “Just one more question if you don’t mind: did anything unusual happen to Cham prior to him standing up and walking away?”

The doctor shuffled through Cham’s files, before stopping and pointing out a detail. “Well yes, actually. He received a package. He sometimes got flowers from his family, but this was from an unmarked sender.”

Interesting, Angus thought. This might be something. “What was inside?”

 

“Clothes,” the doctor said. “Just street clothes. Blue jeans and a tee shirt, and a pair of Converse.”

“And when were they delivered?”

“Oh,” said the doctor, noticing the date. “The day he left, and… It was the day he left.”

That surely meant something. “I’m going to need security footage of the delivery, and every moment of Cham after that.” Angus put another fifty pound note on the table, which the doctor happily collected/ “Just send them by my office.”

Angus rose and walked through the hospital to a back door. He pulled his old, used leather coat around himself and made his way to his motorcycle, when…

Suddenly he wasn’t in Cairo. It was cold, and it was dark, and he could hear the ocean. Angus spun around, and saw that he was on a long pier in a park. He heard sea birds calling, and a distant foghorn. 

“Miss?” he heard behind him, in English, bizarrely.. “You still listening?”

Angus looked down and realized there was a notepad and pen in his hands. He turned towards the voice and saw a young looking man looking at him inquisitively.

“Of course!” Angus said. “All ears. Start from the beginning again please?”

...

Davenport meditated when he couldn’t sleep. Javier smoked when he couldn’t sleep. They often did so together. It was less lonely that way. 

Tonight was that kind of night. The first legislative session since the elections was a month away, which meant today had been a strategy meeting for the Colombian Communist Party. It had gone… poorly. Shockingly so.

Davenport had walked in like a man on a mission. He had a binder full of ideas, and plans to implement them. And he sat down at the table, opened that thick, revolutionary binder, and was told he could do… none of it. 

“Why?” he asked. “Some of these plans could help real people! Civilian infrastructure improvement, tax reform, comprehensive public education. How can you just say no to all of it?”

“Because you can’t pay for it.” Hector Arrabal told him. As party leader, Congressman Arrabal had final say over what the party did or didn’t do To defy him was politically… unwise, to say the least.

“Sure I can!” Davenport said. “I have a very particular marginal tax plan. My math is good.”

“Your math is impractical. A maximum wage? A ninety five percent tax on income above one hundred thousand dollars a year? These things won’t pass and you know it.”

“We have to try!”

“We don’t have to do anything. We have made promises to certain interests that we will not rock the boat, in exchange for continued campaign contributions. If you rock the boat, I’ll put you out in the cold, hermano.”

“Marx didn’t die for this,” Davenport said, resolutely staring Arrabal down.

“Marx died for bronchitis. Grow up.” Arrabal told him, and adjourned the meeting, leaving Davenport wordless. 

Not a good first day at work.

Javier sat smoking as Davenport finished his meditation and stretched. Dav had told him all about it, and he had just nodded thoughtfully. Finally, he spoke. “This Arrabal cat sounds like a real prick.”

“Yeah,” Davenport said mournfully. “A real prick.”

“So what are you going to do? Let your people down to cozy up to his business buddies?”

“You know I can’t do that,” Davenport said.

“Then you’ve only got one option,” Javier said.

“And what’s that?”

Javier took a long drag off his cigarette. “Give ‘em hell.”

...

The Inspector walked leisurely up the dirt path to the congregation, and arrived as Merle’s prayer was concluding. He was smug. He knew this was his big moment, and he was reveling in it. 

“Mr. Highchurch, what have we here?” he asked. “Quite a large gathering of friends, isn’t it?”

“Err, sure it is, sir. We’re all friends here.”

“Merle, you know unofficial churches are forbidden. What shall I tell my captain? I must report the truth to him.”

“Does it have to be the whole truth?”

“No, but it’s much more fun that way.” Inspector Feng leaned in close. “I have you, Merle. Come in quietly.”

...

Taako peeled potatoes. Taako hated peeling potatoes. Taako hated peeling potatoes because he always cut his thumb on the potato peeler, and because potato peeling was peon work. But all of his kitchen staff were out, stricken down by the stomach bug from hell, and he was stuck manning the kitchen all on his lonesome. It was a slow day, but the stray parties that wandered in off the street in the trendy part of town wanted fries, and that meant peeled potatoes.

Lup had decided again to keep him company-as if she didn’t see enough of him at their apartment-and was happily in the corner, plundering political secrets and emptying Swiss bank accounts. Lup didn’t have traditional job. She was a ‘hacktivist,’ a latter-day Robin Hood who stole from the rich and powerful and gave to the queer and the downtrodden. Usually. Sometimes, she did other, less poetic things online.

“Hey Lupy, would ya get me some more salt out of the pantry?” Taako called. “I’m running out over here.”

“Get it yourself, nerd lord, I’m busy.”

Taako gestured down at his pile of potato peelings. “I’m clearly busy too!”

“I’m busier!” Lup said. “I just got this guy to believe I’m the king of Thailand.”

“Funny,” Taako said, whipping her with a towel. “I didn’t think I served catfish.” Nevertheless, he took off his apron and rounded the center aisle to the pantry. He swung open the door, and screamed.

Lup jumped and dropped her laptop. “What?” she said. “Are you okay?”

Taako, breathing heavily, said, “Yeah, there’s a woman in the pantry.”

“A what?” Lup stood up and charged over to see for herself. 

Sure enough, a middle aged woman was in the pantry with a scarf wrapped around her eyes. She wore a long white dress, and was huddled in the corner by the rice sacks.

“Ma’am?” Taako said. “Are you okay?”

Slowly, she took off her blindfold and looked at them with big blue eyes. “Taako? Lup?”

The twins looked at each other, unsure. “How do you know our names?” Lup asked.

The woman stood up and put her hand on the twins shoulders. “This is going to be hard to understand. I’ll be here soon, and I can explain everything. But first, I need you to take care of Merle. Magnus is taking care of Barry, and the rest of you are safe, but Merle is going to go to jail if you don’t help-.”

“Wait!” Taako said. “Who’s Merle? Who’s Magnus? Hell, who are you?” 

Istus smiled. “I’m your mother, Taako. I have to go, help Merle!”

Taako shoved her hand off his shoulder. “Like hell you’re my mother,” he snarled. “I’m calling the cops!” Taako turned around to grab the phone, and when he looked back, Istus had disappeared.

…

Lucretia was frustrated. Her notes from the Airride case were illegible. She couldn’t read them for shit. Hell, she could barely remember the interview. It was like she’d taken a strong dose of Nyquil before going into it. She remembered arriving at the pier, meeting the factory worker, and then… It got fuzzy. She threw down the notepad in frustration. It was like the notes were in a foreign language or something. 

Or something…

She read through the notes. They were certainly words and sentences, just not english ones. Maybe…

She opened her computer and searched for one of the symbols, and to her shock, realized her notes were in Arabic.

She didn’t speak Arabic.

She went to her pad and wrote, Hello?

She waited a moment. A long moment. She was being silly, she decided. It must have been a fluke. Maybe she’d uncovered some deeply buried college memory of learning Arabic or something. 

Then that fog descended again, and she leaned forward, grabbed the pen, and wrote again. 

The fog lifted and she read her notes.

“Hello. Angus McDonald. Private Eye. Cairo, Egypt.” And then, a phone number.


	3. For a Destination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More members of the cluster meet as danger looms on all sides.

The roadblock was just east of Perth. The four officers manning it wore police uniforms, and they talked like cops, but there was no doubt, they were The Hunger. The Raven Queen cursed; she thought they’d have more time. 

Pan just sighed. “You can outrun Toyota, but you can’t outrun Motorola. Whispers must have called them and told on us.” He turned to Istus in the backseat. “Not to worry, friend! We’ll sort this right out.”

“Damn right we will,” said the Raven Queen, and sent a text as she pulled up to the blockade. 

The first copper stepped up to the Jeep and addressed the Raven Queen. “G’day miss, how are you this evening?”

“Quite well, yourself?” the Queen said with a smile. 

“Aw, I’m getting by. I’m gonna need to see all of your licenses and registration if you don’t mind.”

The Raven Queen complied; the registration was real, but the licenses were fake. Hopefully they would pass inspection, as long as these pigs didn’t have their descriptions. As the officer spent more and more time studying the licenses, however, the Raven Queen began to lose faith. 

Then she felt her phone vibrate in the pocket of her black fatigues, and she knew everything was going to be fine. 

A four door pickup truck pulled up behind the Jeep. The driver appeared impatient, and laid on their horn briefly as two of the cops went to check on them. The cop holding the licenses made a decision, and said, “I’m going to need all of you to step out of the vehicle.” Pan and Istus looked to the Raven Queen for instructions, and she nodded. All three stepped out. 

“I need all of you to place your hands on the hood and bend down,” said the cop. As she did, the Raven Queen clearly saw the last officer draw his weapon. She fretted for a second; she had a pistol strapped to her shoulder, but she couldn’t reach for it without being shot herself. She resolved to trust in fate as the soldier behind her cocked his weapon and pressed it against her head. Istus saw the guns and screamed. 

There were two gunshots, then a third. 

...

Magnus’s gear was heavy and his back hurt. His platoon was on patrol in the mountains of the Hindu Kush, hunting for the opium factory that had been dealing into the villages they had been guarding. The driving was tough, and eventually it became easier to set out on foot. Still, legging it up the mountain was hard, painful work. They had been at it for hours, and the sun was beginning to set over the hills when the lieutenant called it quits. Magnus was talking and joking, trying to kill time on the walk back to the trucks.

“Yo Avi,” he called to one of the machine gunners. “Y’all seen the pictures of my baby yet?”

“Everybody between here and Kabul has seen your baby, dude,” Avi laughed. “And they hear you coming in Kabul, too.”

Suddenly, a dog ran out of the brush onto the dirt path they were walking. It spooked some of the soldiers, who raised their weapons defensively, but Magnus was delighted. 

“A dog!” he said with delight, and ran out far ahead of the platoon towards the animal. 

When he kicked the tripwire, he knew he had stepped in serious shit.

Acting on instinct, Magnus called out and hit the ground. The explosion punched his breath out of his chest. He felt like he’d been trampled by a horse, and warm fluid was running down his leg. He hoped to God it was piss. He rolled over, and saw that his platoon were firing upward at a ledge in the cliff face, where the insurgent fighters were firing down at them. Magnus hesitantly rose to a sitting position, and a hand on his shoulder guided him back down. 

“Whoa, buddy,” Barry said. “Easy. You’ve got shrapnel in your leg. You’re lucky that bomb didn’t kill you.” He looked around at the firefight that threatened to engulf him. “Holy fuck, dude. You gotta get off the path, they’re gonna shoot you. You’re a sitting duck, my guy.”

“My friends…” Magnus slurred. “I have to help them.” He reached for his rifle, and Barry put his hand on it and pushed it away. 

“Look, buddy. I don’t know how, but you saved my ass back there with Oleg and his buddies. Now I’m saving yours. Get off the path, now.”

And Barry shoved Magnus with all his strength, rolling the soldier off the path and down the hill. He cursed Barry, and, still trying to rise, his world faded to black.

…

“The legacy of American intervention in Latin America still looms over us,” Davenport said. “And the particular American brand of capitalism they left us with is what drives the deforestation and the pollution that are devastating our air and water.”

If you can’t win by reason, Davenport had decided, win by volume. Arrabal wasn’t going to listen to his policies on their merits, so he had to rally his popular support. So, he scheduled an interview on the national news, and brought his message to the people. After all, if a communist didn’t have the people on their side, what did they have?

“So,” said the host, a perfectly coiffed idiot who would give airtime to the devil if it meant good ratings. “What are your plans for solving these issues?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Davenport said, straightening his tie and getting ready to launch into his pitch. “First, we need to go after the corporations that are causing these issues with regulation and taxation. We can use that revenue to issue a New Deal that will reinvigorate the middle class, and-.”

“Hold on, Congressman,” the host said. “I’m receiving word that we need to break in for an urgent breaking news message. Bogotá police are currently involved in a hostage crisis with an unknown terrorist…”

And just like that, Davenport’s interview was over. 

...

Angus sat on Lucretia’s desk, where she had called him. Or rather, Lucretia sat on her desk, but Angus, at the moment, was Lucretia. It was the strangest feeling. It wasn’t that their heads were overcrowded by a new passenger; more like empty space had been filled in. They paced her Seattle apartment, sharing her body. Neither spoke for a while as they adjusted. 

“So, I’m you?” Lucretia finally said.

“It seems like it,” Angus answered. 

“How can that be? This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, you called me just a minute ago, on a number you couldn’t possibly have. So it must be true, right? I mean, how else could you know Arabic?”

“I speak six languages!”

“Are any of them Arabic?”

Lucretia sheepishly admitted that, no, she did not speak Arabic.

“I don’t speak English. How can we even be talking to each other, never mind sharing your body?”

“How about this: what’s the earliest memory I have?” Lucretia asked, and sat down on her bed. “Tell me that, and I’ll believe we’re connected.”

Angus thought hard for several seconds. “You were three years old,” he said slowly. “You turned around the stairs, coming down from your mom’s room. You stopped, and you begged your sister not to go to college.” Angus paused, then smiled. “Then she tossed you a baseball, and it hit you in the face.”

Lucretia smiled too, on the same face Angus was smiling on. “Hot diggety shit. This is unreal.” She sat in awed silence. “I know all your bank passwords.”

 

Angus laughed, and kept laughing. Lucretia and Angus fell, together, off Lucretia’s bed and rolled on the floor, overjoyed to have discovered something impossible.

Then Lucretia’s roommate knocked on the door. “Hey ‘cretia? You good?”

Lucretia quickly composed herself. “Yeah, Killian, I’m good. Don’t worry.”

“Who are you talking to?”

Lucretia looked at Angus, and smiled wide again. “Just myself.”

...

Barry’s woke up in his office, and it was on fire. The whole building was filling with smoke, and visibility was next to nothing.

He didn’t remember passing out. He knew the soldier he was linked to passed out, and his analytical mind quickly reasoned that it was their link that had put him on his ass. He stood up shakily and staggered to his examination room by muscle memory. He found a rag and soaked it in his sink, and used it to cover his mouth to filter the smoke. His mind raced as he thought about what else he knew to do to prevent himself from dying in a fire. He dropped to his knees and crawled out into the hallway, and heard a gun go off.

He dropped onto his belly and waited. He heard voices charging down the hall towards him, and they were speaking Russian. Presumably, the rest of Oleg’s unit had found him, and would be inquiring about the three dead Russians in his clinic. Barry’s clinic was on the third floor of his building, and the soldiers were between him and the stairs. He’d have to hoof it.

Barry stood up, and began to run in the opposite direction. He stopped when he came up against a floor to ceiling window. The voices came closer, the clumps of the boots were running now.

Mild-mannered Barry Bluejeans took a deep breath, kicked out the window, and jumped.

…

Lup looked at Taako. Taako looked back at Lup, the phone in his hand. The dial tone filled the empty restaurant and set Taako’s hair on end. He wasn’t sure what to say. What do you say after that?

“That was real, right?” Lup said.

“Well, I’m not currently tripping. Unless we have a monoxide leak, I think we're probably both pretty sober.”

“Well, then I guess Mom there really needs us for something.”

“She’s not our mother!” Taako said. “Our mother ditched us with our auntie. And I don’t think she could teleport.”

“Either way, Taako, it sounds like this Merle cat is in a jam. How do you suppose we find him?”

Taako took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes, he was being rained on in Lhasa. 

He looked around, startled, at the Chinese policemen storming the small outdoor church, at the fleeing congregants. He saw a woman tackled and handcuffed, he saw names being taken by policemen with guns. He tried to run, and he slammed into his gas range in Sydney and collapsed. 

Lup rushed to his side, and said, “Taako, are you alright, what happened to you?” And as she knelt to help Taako up, she saw it too. “Where are we?” she said, grabbing her brother’s hand.

And they heard, clear as they could hear the rain, one voice raise above the din and call out to them. “Help me.”

And they saw the preacher, his hands cuffed before him, watching his church come down around him.

…

Inspector Feng bound Merle in handcuffs and turned to the congregation. “Your church is dismissed,” he said. “All of you are in violation of the law. Form a queue to be processed for your fines and other penalties.”

Merle’s congregants were poor, mostly farmers and factory workers from the outskirts of the city. They couldn’t afford to be fined. They began to scatter. Feng just laughed and spoke into his radio, and his stormtroopers charged onto the property and began taking names by force.

Merle looked on in horror. These were his people, he’d made them trust him with the promise of everlasting life in Jesus. How could he have betrayed them so terribly?

But wait.

Who was this person, this dusky skinned person in his church? He knew them, he was sure of it. He met the young man’s eyes and called, as earnestly as he could, “Help me.”

The man turned and collided with… nothing? But he sat up on his knees, and suddenly, another of him, identical in every way, was kneeling above him, and they both met Merle’s eyes, and had a conversation Merle could not hear. Then, suddenly they were beside him.

“Reverend Merle, I presume,” the young man lilted.

“Looks like you could use a hand here, pal,” his sister (how could Merle know that?) said.

“Please, my people are in danger,” Merle said. “Help us.”

“On it!” the sister-Lup, definitely Lup-said, and began frantically typing on a keyboard.

“Let me have a word with this Feng cat,” Taako said.

And suddenly, Merle knew exactly what to say. A lifetime of scrapping and lying and stalling for time was instantly at his fingertips. “Uh, yo Feng,” Merle said, only ‘Merle’ didn’t say it.

Feng looked at Merle with amusement. “Oh, the pastor knows English, does he? American influence, I would guess? Why am I not surprised.”

Merle cursed in English, then tried again in Tibetan. “Yo Feng, this seems awful rushed, don’t you need to read me my rights or somethin’?”

Feng's smile faded. “You have no rights, Highchurch. You are a prisoner of the Chinese government. You knew running an underground church would forfeit your rights.”

“Sure, sure, big guy, I get that, but like. Don’t I get a phone call or something?”

“Actually,” Lup said, with a final keystroke. “I think it’s him that gets the one phone call.

And Feng’s phone rang.

He answered it with a confidence that quickly depleted. “Hello?... Yes, Captain, I have them right here... Who called you? Which minister?... ‘I violated his human rights!?’ Which rights? He knew the law-... Yes Captain. Right away.” And Feng hung up the phone, and said, “It’s your lucky day, Highchurch. But I’ll be back for you.”

And he gestured to his troops, rounded them back up, and ordered them to release them. 

Suddenly, Merle was in a kitchen in Sydney with the Taako twins. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

“No big deal, really,” Lup said. “Just made a call to some human rights orgs, had them call a certain Chinese legal authority I have pull with, and had them call this Feng asshole. No sweat.” And she fist bumped her brother, looking smug.

“Huh,” Merle said. “Well, thank God you did.”

...

The third gunshot and the three officers at the roadblock died in the desert night, and the last surviving officer cursed and stumbled backward. The two at the truck were dead, and the one who was about to kill Pan followed right behind them. The Raven Queen used the confusion to draw her pistol and kick the officer to the ground. He snarled and tried to bring his weapon around to kill the Raven Queen, but a voice from the truck called, “Hold it! If you wanna live, put the gun down, mate. You’re surrounded.”

Sure enough, in the bed of the truck, leaning over the cab, a man in raven mask was holding a hunting rifle and pointing it dead at the cop. The two in the front, a raven and a ram, got out and hurried over with their own pistols. The Raven Queen opened her arms, and the two rushed in for a hug.

“My babies! I’m so happy you’re all safe! Has Kravitz been taking care of you both?”

“We’ve all been taking care of each other, mother,” said Hurley. “Like you taught us.”

“Only now we’re taking care of you,” said Sloane, breaking out of the hug and dragging the officer upright by his hair. “How did you let yourselves get caught like that?”

Pan rushed around to hug Hurley, and said, “Oh, Sloane, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world! Istus has given birth!”

“No shit?” said Kravitz, who had shouldered his rifle to cross the distance from the truck and hug his aunt Istus from behind. “We have cousins?”

“Yes,” said Istus. “And they’re beautiful.”

“We’ll tell you all about them in a moment,” the Raven Queen said leaning over the downed officer. “But first, we need to learn some things from him. How did you know we’d be coming this way?”

The officer struggled against Sloane’s grip, but she dug her pistol into his neck and stilled him. He finally glared up at the Raven Queen and said, “The Hunger has y’alls number, lads. You’re not going to get far, not when we’re after you.”

The Raven Queen went to the nearby squad car and found a radio. She brought it over and held it to the officer’s mouth. I’m going to sound this radio, and you’re going to say that you saw us going north, get me? Otherwise, Sloane is gonna break your knees, and the dingos are gonna chew you up and shit you out.”

The officer grimaced, but complied. The Raven Queen nodded, and clocked him over the head with her gun, leaving him collapsed in the brush.

“Now then,” she said. “Now that we have some privacy, let’s get to driving, and Istus will tell us all about our new family members.”

And they mounted into their vehicles, and they drove east into the sunrise, toward the future.


	4. I Realized Quickly When I Knew I Should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost completely connected now, the sensates attempt to learn more about their connections. Davenport meets a fateful friend.

To her very core, Istus was a mother.

It’s not so much that she grew up alone, more that something was missing. She had a family, such as it was. But she had an ache for love, and so much of it to give. And when she was born again, her new wealth of love filled that empty shape inside her. It took the form of Pan and the Raven Queen. It took the shape of their father, with his kind, gentle heart and his drive to provide for his young. Though they were sometimes outcast, they were never alone.

And when her first cluster was born, her cup did runneth over. Istus resolved that her cluster would never want for anything she could give. She had watched her own cluster hunted until only the three of them remained, and then watched the same happen to the Raven Queen’s cluster. For a time, the six of them were truly alone against the world.

But as it always does, the psycellium, the psychic network that connects all sensates, provided. They met other clusters, they made friends and connections. Some brave heroes destroyed the dark faction within BPO, the evil corporation that wanted the heads of sensates like them. For a time, things were good, and sensates thrived.

But then, sensates starting disappearing, either killed or cut off from their clusters. Ones and twos at first, then whole clusters at a time. No one knew what was happening to them or who was behind it, and a new age of distrust bloomed into its darkest flower.

And then, a survivor of a cluster who were killed in Moscow broke free, and took to the psycellium to warn the others. A new multinational shadow organization simply called the Hunger had permeated government, business, and financial institutions. It was built on the sole goal of killing sensatates. They pressed them, legally and financially, into the open, and then had them arrested or rounded up. Worse still, they employed numerous bounty hunters who murdered sensates with ruthless efficiency. Magic Brian, the Wonderland twins, and worst of all, Whispers, were names spoken in hushed tones in back rooms as sensates hid and prayed not to be caught.

All this was what Istus and her cluster were up against. They were lucky not to have been caught in Perth, and they would be luckier still if they made it to Sydney safely. But right now, Istus had her nephew Kravitz, and her two wonderful nieces, Hurley and Sloane, and she was telling them only good things. Davenport’s election, Taako’s restaurant, Magnus’s service record. These, not the darkness, were what carried them east across the wild Outback.

...

Inspector Feng, in all his years with the police, had never been so frustrated. He had caught Merle in the act of hosting and preaching in an illegal church, and wasn’t allowed to pursue it. He cursed himself and the heathen god Merle prayed to, but he gathered his troops and made ready to leave. 

“I’ll see you again, Highchurch. I promise you.”

And he was gone. They marched out of the wreckage of Merle’s church, leaving benches upturned and the congregation scattered to the wind. Merle sighed, and stepped down off the stage and began to clean up. “We glory in tribulations also,” he quoted under his breath. “Knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope: and hope maketh not ashamed…”

When he finished he sat down to pray. He prayed for many things: the safety of his congregation, the soul of Inspector Feng, strength to withstand the storm and wisdom to understand what God had brought before him.

As he concluded his prays, he turned his thoughts from the divine to the terrestrial, and reached out to the twins who had saved him. When he opened his eyes, there they were. It was dinner time in Sydney, and they were working like mad.

...

Taako made himself a solemn vow to fire every damned member of his kitchen staff who had called in sick today. And maybe to murder them as well. That would depend on his mood tomorrow. But today, the dinner rush hit hard and fast, and he had no capacity to think about anything else. He conscripted Lup into sous chef service, and she, to her credit, worked like an ant on Adderall. But there just were not enough hands.

As Taako was coming back from bussing a table, a woman sitting at the counter with a tight bun and a bad attitude sat up on her knees on her stool, leaned over the counter, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir!” she said, and Taako immediately hated her. “I ordered twenty minutes ago, where is my meal?”

“Comin’ right up, ma’am!” Taako choked out through teeth that wanted to bite.

“You could hurry,” he heard the woman mumble, as her slack-jawed husband laughed. 

Taako snapped. He whipped around and pointed his spatula at her. “Listen up, miss!” he said, or perhaps shouted.

“Yes?” she said, ready to fight.

And then a hand was on Taako’s back, and the love of Jesus Christ filled him and placated him. “Easy there, friend,” Merle said. “Let me handle this one.”

Merle occupied Taako, putting on his body like a wetsuit, and stepped forward toward the woman. “I apologize, gorgeous,” he said. “Your dinner is coming right out.” He gave her a wink and returned to the kitchen. 

As Taako took charge of his body and got back to sauteing and baking, he said, “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you, Pastor?”

“Hey, give me a break,” Merle said. “That woman looked fit to blow the house down. Besides, I swore an oath of chastity, but you didn’t. So if I’m in your body…”

“Gross! Disgusting! I won’t hear of it.”

“Hey, Merle,” Lup said, looking up from her frying pan. “Not that I don’t love having you around, but how are we talking? You’re in China, and we’re down under. Is this a magic thing?”

“I’ll be honest, I had assumed you two were angels until just now.”

“I understand the confusion,” Taako said, passing between Lup and Merle en route to the pantry. “I’m often told I have an ethereal, divine beauty.”

“Taako, this is serious,” Lup said. “This is our twin connection. But now Merle is a part of it. We’re all connected. There’s three of us now.”

“Yeah, about that,” they heard, and a man in blood-soaked slacks and a dress shirt shuffled into the kitchen. “Better make it four.”

...

“Aw fuck!” Taako said, burying a knife into a block of tofu. “Can I just get some goddamn cooking done without the entire freak parade tumbling through my kitchen?”

“What happened to you, pal?” Merle said. “You look like hell!”

Barry didn’t answer. He scanned the kitchen, looking for his familiar face, and didn’t see him.

“Where’s Magnus?” he said.

“Great, there’s another one,” said Taako.

In many ways, Barry was lucky. After jumping out the window, he’d landed on an awning and bounced off of it onto the street, which had probably saved his life. The fighting in Kiev had largely moved away from his part of town, so he wasn’t in immediate danger from the Russian army. However, he could hear gunfire nearby, and the soldiers were sure to leave the burning building soon. He certainly wasn’t safe.

“I need to get out of here. Will you help me?”

Lup, Taako, and Merle looked up and down the gray Ukrainian street where Barry was stranded. Cars were jammed in the street, and there was no leaving by road. Taako picked up a short piece of rebar from the ground and handed it to Barry. “Fight the power, man.” Merle jammed a board through the handles of the door, hopefully preventing pursuit for a moment.

Lup quickly had her laptop on hand and was researching everything she could for Barry. “The UN says that Kiev is surrounded on all sides, so whichever way you run, you’ll hit Russians. Maps show that the lightest blockade will be… on your right!”

Barry set off running in the indicated direction, the rumble of artillery shells and aircraft reverberating in his chest.

…

Angus put on his hat and stepped out into the desert rain. On a whim, he’d gone to the hospital where he was born to check that he didn’t have a long lost American twin. No luck there, either, he thought, as he set off walking down the street. “Sorry, ‘cretia,” he said, as Lucretia appeared next to him. “I can’t explain it. You and I are just linked.”

“Maybe it’s not meant to be explained. Maybe we’re just magic,” she said, and they both smiled.

“I like the sound of that,” Angus said. “‘McDonald and Balance, Magic Investigators.’”

“When did you learn my last name?”

“The same time I learned your favorite color, and the names of all your stuffed animals, and your entire sexual history…”

“Fine, I get it. Shut up.”

“Are you really not curious about how we got hooked up to each other?” Angus asked.

“Well, of course I’m curious. But I think we have absolutely nothing to operate on, so we’ll have to wait until we get some more clues.”

A voice behind them cleared it’s throat. “Well,” Pan said. “Perhaps I can elucidate some.”

...

 

Magnus was in and out of consciousness for several hours. He remembered the gunfire going on and on. He remembered hearing his name being called, and then strong arms lifting him and carrying him. It was fuzzy, and his head and leg hurt like hell. When he finally came around, he was in the infirmary back on base, and Avi was watching over him.

“Easy there, pal. You took a hell of a hit,” Avi said. He looked around conspiratorially, and produced a flask from his fatigues. “Here, drink some of this. It’s technically contraband, but you saved all our lives by kicking that wire, so I reckon you’ve earned it.”

Magnus drank, and coughed. The stuff Avi liked to drink was a step above rubbing alcohol, and it always caught Magnus off guard when it was offered to him. “Is Barry okay?” Magnus asked, the shock from the combat still keeping him off guard.

Avi frowned. “Barry? Man, you must’ve got hit hard. We ain’t got a Barry in the platoon, chief.”

Magnus shook his head to clear his thoughts. Of course Avi wouldn’t know about Barry. But Barry had said that they were connected, so if he felt like hell, he hated to think how Barry was doing.

Avi leaned in close and whispered. “Listen, I don’t know if you realize it, but some weird shit is going on with you, and I figured it’s best if you hear it from me first. When you went down, you were right in the firing line. You were a goner for sure. And then, it was like something invisible shoved you off the path to safety. It was fuckin’ crazy, dude. We couldn’t find you in the brush for a hot minute. Anyway, brass is interested in that shove. I’m supposed to run and get them as soon as you wake up.”

Avi stood up and rubbed his hands together. “So, I’m gonna go do that now. If you know something, lie, don’t lie, your call. But know what you’re gonna say, ‘cause you’re gonna be saying it in a minute.”

...

Davenport’s secretary Ariel was a practical, no-nonsense person, which is an overused phrase, but never has it applied more to one human being. They had been keeping his records and appointments straight since he was a community organizer on the ground level, and they would stay with him until he was dead in his grave. As Davenport blew into his office on this dreary day following his failed TV appearance, Ariel handed him a sheet of paper listing his evening engagements and a muffin she’d bought to cheer him up.

“Thank you, darling,” Davenport said. “What would I do without you?”

Then he entered his office, and a strange woman was in his chair.

Davenport looked at her, then at Ariel, then back at her. She was staring at him, studying him, like she wanted to absorb everything about him in one look.

“Ariel,” Davenport said. “Who’s in my office?”

“You’re in your office, sir,” Ariel said. 

“I know I’m in my office. Who else is in my office?”

“I’ve been sitting here all day. No one else is in your office.”

The woman stood up and went to Davenport and took his face in her hands. Oddly, he wasn’t afraid. He must know her from somewhere, he thought. Otherwise how could she be so familiar?

“Davenport,” she said. “You’re so strong. So brave. I’m so proud of you.”

“Brave?” Davenport said. “How am I brave? All I’ve done since I took office is fail.”

“Good things are coming, my son. All you have to do is keep fighting like you always have for what you know is right.” 

“How can I fight when no one is on my side?”

Istus smiled. “I’m on your side, darling. And so are all of your family.”

“You mean my brothers...?” Davenport said, knowing that wasn’t what she meant.

“Of course them, but also all of us. You’ll never be alone.”

And suddenly she was gone. And Davenport was dog tired.

He had thirty minutes before his next appointment. Fuck it, he was taking a nap.

Moments after he drifted off, Davenport’s intercom buzzed, waking him up. “Sir,” Ariel said, and their voice sounded strained. “You… have a visitor…”

“Who is it?” Davenport said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine sir,” Ariel said, their voice growing quiet with excitement. “It’s just... It’s Lito Rodriguez!”


	5. The World Is Made Up of This Brotherhood of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Davenport, Barry, and Magnus fall into crisis, the sensates rush to connect their final puzzle pieces and unite.

The Eyre Highway across Australia was long, and the driving was hot and exhausting. The Raven Queen drove the Jeep while Pan kept his watchful eye on the fresh-faced young sensates. Behind them, Sloane drove the truck while Hurley read a map and Kravitz tended to Istus in the backseat, who was resting after her tiring few days. 

They were in flight, there was no doubt about that. The Hunger had them in its sights, and they needed to lay low for a time before they could go directly to Sydney. Kravitz suggested a sensate hiding place he knew of, a cave outside a little town called Spiced Wood. They arrived at sunset and discovered only a small roadhouse. Kravitz, unphased, led them inside.

The bar in the roadhouse was lively, and they had to cut through it to reach the front desk. As they entered, the action in the bar ceased. Kravitz in his long coat cut a terrifying figure, and Hurley and Sloane in their black jackets looked like hellions. Kravitz charged in with confidence, while Pan and the Raven Queen shepherded Istus through the tables and Hurley and Sloane brought up the rear. The concierge at the roadhouse was an old, old woman. Kravitz went directly to her and whispered to her. “We’re sensates in need of help. Can you provide us safe quarter?”

The old woman nodded slowly, understanding their plight. She passed them two sets of room keys, and guided them back towards the dining room for a much needed hot meal. “Careful, children,” she said. “These roads are most unsafe. Rest as long as you need.”

...

Davenport panicked.

Why was Lito Rodriguez here? What could the most famous gay movie star in Latin America possibly want with little old him? He was out of his depth. At least he was wearing hs good suit, that’s one good thing his TV interview had gotten him at least. He went to his little office mirror, straightened his tie, fixed his hair, and sat back down, the very image of carefully affected coolness.

“Alright, Ariel, thank you. Send him right in.”

Ariel opened his office door, and there, in all his legendary glory, was Lito Rodriguez.

“Hola, Congressman Davenport,” the actor said, smiling his charismatic smile. “I am a big fan of your policies. It is an honor to meet you!”

Davenport, trying not to reel, shook Lito’s extended hand and smiled back. “The honor is all mine, Mr. Rodriguez. To what do I owe the visit?”

“Well, it is perhaps a bit of a long story. How much time do you have?”

“For you? As much as I need,” Davenport gestured to his desk and the comfortable visitor’s chair. “Why don’t we sit down?”

“Perfect,” Lito said, sitting down and getting comfortable.

Davenport rounded his desk and sat, his mind racing. He had a couple of semi-important meetings this afternoon, but if he could get Lito Rodriguez to sponsor his economic platform, that would be a massive win for exposure. Arrabal would have to at least acknowledge Davenport if he got such a high profile endorsement for him and the party. He’d be a rockstar. The possibility alone was more than worth clearing his evening schedule.

“So,” Davenport said when they were both seated. “What can the Colombian Communist Party do for you, Mr. Rodriguez??”

“Well, I’m actually more here about what I can do for you. You see, in a few moments, a man is going to come through your office door and try to kill you. I’m here to prevent that.”

Davenport sat only momentarily stunned before his garrulous nature carried him forward. “Are you threatening me, sir?”

“Well, no, quite the opposite. I really am here to save your life. We have very little time, so we must hurry. I’ll explain everything in a moment, but long story short, you are a member of a psychic network connecting you intimately to thousands of us across the planet. Lots of people don’t like us very much, and the guy who is coming is one of the worst, so we really need to go now.”

“Hold on, wait,” Davenport said, as Lito stood up and walked towards the door. “You’re telling me I’m a psychic? Why should I believe that?”

“Sprichst du Deutsch, Congressman?”

“Spreche ich Deutsch? No, I don’t speak German,” Davenport said, in German. “Wait, hold on, I don’t… How could that-.”

“I will explain everything later, amigo. But first, we need to…” Lito trailed off as he glanced, then stared at Davenport’s wrist. “Congressman, do not move.”

Davenport looked down to see a colossal spider crawling down his arm.

There came a knock at the door, and it swung open. 

“Allo ‘allo, my little sensates. I hear ve are speaking German, and I thought I might drop in for a taste,” said the Black Spider, one of the deadliest assassins in the world.

...

Lucretia was on her guard before Angus was. “Do I know you, sir?”

“Not yet, but you will,” Pan told them. “I’m your uncle. Your mother is one of my cluster, and you two are members of your own cluster.”

“Who is our mother?” Angus asked.

“What do you mean, cluster?” Lucretia asked right behind him.

“You are two members of an eight member cell. Your siblings are scattered worldwide, but I fear one of them is about to be destroyed. Angus, Lucretia, you have to rescue Magnus. He’s been discovered by the Hunger, and he is in mortal peril. Your time is limited, go to him now!”

“Wait, sir, we need some answers from you!” Angus said, but Pan was gone.

…

The line between debriefing and interrogation can be fine. Military police came into Magnus’s hospital room, sat down, and talked with frightening severity about the incident that had landed him in infirmary rather than the morgue. They weren’t officers he had seen around base, either. They were grim, stoic people. Over the course of the day, he often saw them outside his hospital room talking to his doctors. At one point, he saw them look at a brain scan, and then at him, and the hair on his neck pricked up in a major way. If he had to be honest, he was scared, but he was a good soldier. He resolved to have faith and endure, no matter what.

Finally, a doctor entered with two of the MPs to deliver their prognosis. “Well, Sergeant,” the doctor said. “It looks like you’re going to make a full recovery. It’ll take physical therapy and a couple more surgeries to repair the damaged muscle, but you’ll be walking on it again. That’s the good news.”

“And what’s the bad news? Magnus asked.

“The bad news is that you’re being discharged into our custody,” the ranking MP said. “Sergeant Magnus Burnsides, you are under arrest for sedition and conspiracy to commit treason.”

“What! I would never!” Magnus said, struggling to rise, but the MP talked over him as he read him his rights and two nurses lifted him into a wheelchair with handcuffs on it. “I’ve been framed, let me go!” he said.

His protests echoed down the infirmary halls, heeded by no one.

…

“So who do you suppose that was?” Angus asked Lucretia.

“If he’s kin to our mother, then he’s kin to us,” Lucretia said. “That means something.”

“Unless he’s lying.”

“Regardless, he clearly knows something about us, which is better than we’re doing. Let’s operate on the assumption he’s here to help until we know otherwise.”

“Fair.”

The sun was setting in Cairo, and just rising in Seattle. They both stood in the street a minute, thinking, watching the opposite ends of the night.

“So,” Lucretia said. “This Magnus guy is linked to us, like we’re linked to each other.”

“Correct.”

“And he’s in danger.”

“Also correct.”

“So we ought to help him.”

“But how do we find him?”

“Presumably just… like this.” And Lucretia thought hard, explored the part of her mind that knew Angus as well as she knew herself, and then they were there, in the back of an armored van, speeding through the Afghan night.

…

Magnus sat stoic as the MPs drove him off base. The back of the truck was cramped, with him and two officers sitting on guard in the back, and two more in the front. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. He’d been a good soldier his entire adult life, and he certainly hadn’t committed sedition or treason. All he knew was that this had to be a mistake. His judge advocate would sort out the truth, and he would see his wife and daughter again before too long.

“Hey, shouldn’t I get a phone call?” he asked the MP sat across from him. “I need to tell my wife where I am.” The MP glared at him, then stood up, hefted his rifle, and bashed the butt into Magnus’s face. Magnus felt his nose break, and blood ran down his chin.

“Shut the fuck up, sensate. You’re not going to be talking to much of anybody anymore.”

This was, understandably, jarring. This was not military protocol. He recoiled from the attack, and when he looked up, the back of the truck was even more crowded. There was a dusky-skinned man with close cropped hair and a duster, and a black woman with a massive afro in jeans and a Nirvana tee shirt. They had certainly not been there a second ago. He stared at them. They stared at him.

“So, hi,” the woman said. “I’m Lucretia. This is Angus. You must be Magnus!”

“Lovely to meet you,” Angus said. 

“Yeah, you as well,” Magnus said. “Did Barry send you?”

“Barry?” the MP asked. “Nah, Barry’s been out of office for three years. Donald sent us, we’re Army, can’t you tell?” And the other soldiers laughed in their seats.

“Hey, ‘cretia,” Angus said, studying one of Magnus’s escorts. “I grew up in the Sinai. I know US Army MPs. These are not Army MPs. They’re wearing their weapons wrong, and those are not military issue rifles. Magnus, I’m afraid you’ve been kidnapped.”

“Yeah, this is definitely not ideal,” Lucretia said.

…

To look deep into Taako’s heart, as no one but Lup had ever done, one would know he wasn’t actually full of shit. His aloofness and his coldness were an act, a facade to protect his heart from the world.

Taako was always sharply aware of himself; of his words, his movements. He may have been the most acutely calculated man on Earth. To him, every conversation was a risky game, which engendered his need to, subtly of course, be downright ruthless, pushing everyone a safe distance away.

Since he was a child, he had always been dead certain that the only person he could trust was his sister. For her, he would sacrifice heart and soul, life and limb. So what now was he to make of all these new siblings who knew him as well as Lup?

He chopped celery mulling on these and other philosophical quandaries as Barry ran through the side streets of Kiev. Merle knelt on the floor of his makeshift temple, and therefore, the floor of Taako’s kitchen, and said a prayer for Barry’s safe deliverance. Lup walked with Barry through the streets of Kiev carrying her laptop and guiding him. Taako wanted to help, but the restaurant wasn’t going to run itself.

“Hey, uh, Lup,” Barry said. “What’s our endgame here? Am I supposed to run all the way to Belarus or whatever?” 

“I don’t know, babe, we’re winging this one, alright?” she said. “I’ll try and find you a safe place to hole up, then we’ll take it slow.”

“What about going to an embassy?” Taako said, munching on a carrot. “Barold could request asylum from the Americans or something.”

Merle finished his prayer and rose to his feet. “Now that’s an idea. The Chinese embassy is right across the Dnieper River from you.”

“No good,” Lup said. “The Russians have the Metro Bridge locked down.”

“I can’t swim,” Barry said. “Any of you guys want to pick up the slack for me?”

“I haven’t done physical exercise since I was twelve,” Lup said.

“I get by, I suppose,” Merle said. 

“I basically invented surfing, soooo…” Taako said, excited to come to the rescue. “Lup, watch the stove. If that roast burns, I burn you.” He turned around, and was standing next to Barry in wartorn Kiev. “Come on, nerd lord. Let’s go get wet.” And they set off towards the Dnieper.


End file.
